


code red

by loyaulte_me_lie



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Gen, M/M, Menstruation, Pre-Slash, Trans Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:07:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22897723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loyaulte_me_lie/pseuds/loyaulte_me_lie
Summary: Enjolras deals with his period & Grantaire is much better about it than anyone expected.
Relationships: Enjolras & Grantaire (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 110





	code red

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short because I'm dealing with the period from hell at the moment and wanted to write out my feelings. First time writing Enjolras as trans - I hope it's ok, any feedback would be received gratefully. I was going to title this "les anglais ont debarque" which is an (old-fashioned, I think, any French people please correct me!) French euphemism for periods which translates to "the english have arrived" (hilarious), but it was a bit too jokey for the fic. 
> 
> I'll stop rambling. No t/w as far as I know.

He’s in the mostly-empty backroom of the Musain when he starts to feel the first cramps. Grantaire is pretending to doze on the table under the window, the lamplight amusing itself making ghastly shadows of him against the far wall. Enjolras’ pen is flying across the paper, his thoughts tumbling in a complicated orbit; it takes him a while to notice. Then noticing is all he can do. It’s always been this way with his menses - they creep up on him. He has to be alert to be ready for them, and alert to the telltale signs is the last thing he’s had time for this past week. Still, he shouldn’t have allowed himself to be caught short, especially wearing light-coloured trousers. Damn Courfeyrac for bullying him into buying some!

A cramp hits and he digs his fingers into the edge of the table, reminds himself to focus on his breathing, closes his eyes. How is it always this bad? He could have sworn that his mother never used to be debilitated by hers, either that or she was very good at hiding her pain, which, well. Unlikely. There is the screech of a chair, a cane tapping across floorboards. Why isn’t he just with Combeferre, who knows about the whole thing and doesn’t give a damn about it, who always knows what to do?

“Enjolras?” Grantaire says, somewhere above his left ear, “are you quite alright?”

“Fine,” he snaps, sharper than he means, pressing his free hand to his stomach. Jesus Christ, why now of all the times?

“Well, I generally trust your judgement considering the fact that you’re one of the most intelligent men I know, but you are also woefully bad at dealing with being ill and you don’t look fine.”

“Seriously, Grantaire,” Enjolras opens his eyes, hisses in another breath. “I’m alright. Something I ate must have disagreed with me.”

“You should head home, then,” Grantaire says in a rare show of sober and sound advice, “you wouldn’t want to collapse in the street, believe me.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“I’m not telling you,” Grantaire says, and then with a laugh, “Gavroche has never let me hear the end of it.”

“I’m sure he didn’t,” Enjolras sounds less stern than he would like, “that child is a rascal.”

“Rascals are the best, especially in fiction. Seriously, go home - you’ve gone as white as a sheet.”

“Right, yes, I…where’s my coat?” Enjolras gathers his things, and Grantaire takes a step back. If he can get his coat on before he stands up, then it might cover the worst of any staining that’s bound to have happened…

“Combeferre hung it up for you before he left, remember?”

Someone has it out for him tonight. He takes a deep breath, sends a quick prayer to the God he barely believes in anymore that the blood won’t have started in earnest, and stands, taking several quick strides over to the door. Grantaire’s hasty inhale tells him that yes, God evidently doesn’t exist.

“Enjolras, you’re…”

“Yes, I know,” Enjolras says curtly, feeling heat flame to his cheeks.

“Is that…”

There’s no point lying now, is there? “Yes.”

“You’re…”

“Nothing has changed since an hour ago. I am still the same person.”

“I wasn’t, I…oh god, are you alright? Here, sit down, breathe.”

“I get bad pain, with it, I…” Enjolras tells the floorboards, wondering at where this quiet, tactful Grantaire has come from. The others did say that he tends to be more bearable sober, but this is the first time Enjolras has witnessed the evidence. Grantaire hands him a glass of wine which Enjolras tries to wave off, but it’s pushed into his hand.

“Seriously, try it. It used to help my sister.”

“Your sister?”

Grantaire’s voice is wry. “Funnily enough, I am not actually Dionysus as much as I claim an affinity to him. I had a sister. She used to get cramps like yours, I’d be the one to help her with it. Have you tried heat?”

“No,” Enjolras looks up through his fringe, electing to ignore Grantaire’s use of the past tense. Now is not the right time to dig up any painful memories. “Combeferre usually prescribes laudanum. I’ll try heat, though.”

“You should.” Grantaire sits down after a moment, leans his cane against the nearest table. “Is Combeferre the only one who knows?”

“Yes,” Enjolras says, then, “I would…”

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” Grantaire interrupts, his voice suddenly fierce. “I know I intentionally set out to wind you up, but I would never share a secret like this. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras breathes out heavily, sits up. The cramps have abated somewhat, but these trousers are going to be beyond saving. He’s going to have to think of an excuse for Courfeyrac when he never wears them again. “Yes, I…”

“And you don’t have to tell me the whole backstory either, if you don’t want. It’s none of my business.”

“But you’re curious.”

“Of course I am. I’m human. But I respect your right to privacy more.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras says, looks down at his hands. “I just…the others can’t know. I revere them as my brothers, and if they knew I…well. It would change everything.”

“I’d imagine so, yes. The philosophy of women’s emancipation is quite different to the reality.”

Enjolras slants him a look; Grantaire grins. “Sometimes I do listen to other people.”

“Will wonders never cease?” Enjolras asks, and Grantaire’s grin gets wider. “I am a man, though, even though I was born in a woman’s body.”

“Alright,” Grantaire says easily. Enjolras finds himself staring, forces himself to look away. Then, “do you want to walk home together? I wouldn’t want you to get hurt if they come back, and you, I don't know, keel over in an alley.”

“Yes, actually, if it’s not too far out of your way.”

“I don’t actually live that far from you,” Grantaire says, “and anyway, the night is young.”

“So says the man who doesn’t have classes in the morning.”

“Indeed. Why be a student when you could paint and play dominoes for a living, eh?”

Enjolras shrugs his coat on, and hands Grantaire his, scoops up his satchel. Grantaire takes up the cane again, limps towards the door. “Onwards!” he says in a passable imitation of Enjolras, “into the dawn of liberty!”

Enjolras snorts, and follows him out into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @if-fortunate :)
> 
> P.S. lots of social justice issues around periods which most folk are probably aware of but thought i'd raise it since i just wrote about them. i'm based in the uk, and period poverty is only recently being talked about. parliament is getting rid of the tampon tax, but it doesn't go into effect until 2022 - and only last year did the government launch a taskforce on period poverty. if you're interested (& uk based) check out the 'red box project' or wen's "environmenstrual" work, which tackles the sheer amount of plastic in period products. also the ruby cup uk. interested to hear what's going on in other countries too!
> 
> P.P.S. a really good article by gal-dem on this as well: https://gal-dem.com/we-cant-all-have-sustainable-periods/


End file.
